


Elvish Way With All Good Beasts, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Kings, Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Canon - Fills plot hole(s), Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - New interpretation, Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Unusual relationship(s), Characters - Well-handled emotions, Characters - Well-handled romance/eroticism, General, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Fast moving, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Plot - Joy, Plot - Tear-jerker, Subjects - Animals, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Explores obscure facts, Subjects - Geography, Subjects - Legends/Myth/History, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2003-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if "the elvish way" is something a young elf must learn the hard way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Grey Horse of Rohan

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**Author's notes:**

To Fury of Broken Wheel Ranch, who started it all when I was four.

And Lor, who taught me about real mustangs.

_"A smaller and lighter horse, but restive and fiery was brought to Legolas. Arod was his name. But Legolas asked them to take off saddle and rein, 'I need them not.' he said, and leaped lightly up, and to their wonder Arod was tame and willing beneath him, moving here and there with but a spoken word; such was the elvish way with all good beasts."_

So reads my favorite paragraph in all of LOTR. Having many times wished for this skill myself, when a thousand pound herbivore is rooted into the earth in fear of a mere mud puddle, or fleeing in panic from a bit of blowing paper, I wondered if Legolas might have actually had to work to aquire this skill himself. This is decidedly based on the book, not the film.

Time period: the middle of the Third Age.

*******

"How did you escape our sight? Are You Elvish folk?"

The words had been dark with suspicion and fear as an old oak is with moss and tangling vines. They still stung the heart of Legolas, as did the Rohirrim leader's sharp words about the Lady of the Golden Wood.

"Few escape her nets..." Eomer had continued, with eyes as hard as the distant mountains.

Then Gimli had leaped impulsively to the defense of the Lady, and the Elf had found it necessary to leap to the defense of the bloody minded, stiff-necked, and completely tactless Dwarf (despite the thicket of one hundred and five spears pointed at their hearts, spears Legolas had personally counted five leagues ago).

Aragorn had intervened in a most noble and diplomatic fashion, but none of this had been forgotten by the Riders of Rohan in the last few minutes. Tension rode the air like lightning waiting to burst forth in a storm.

Doubtful glances passed among the Riders as the three spare horses were brought forth. Eomer himself handed the reins of the tallest to Aragorn, a gesture full of grace and dignity, despite the dark looks of some of his eored. The Dunadan, who had ridden in cavalries across Middle-earth, even among the Rohirrim, and who had learned his first skills from the Elves of Imladris, mounted with ease. Legolas felt some of the tension evaporate: indeed, the Rohirrim could see that here was the heir of Elendil, a possible strength to the sons of Eorl. A Man much like themselves.

"...who has heard of a horse of the Mark being given to a Dwarf?" Eothain's voice was just short of derisive.

Legolas would rethink the impulsive decision that followed many times in the weeks to follow, though he would never tell Gimli; "...you shall sit behind me... _" Why, why did I not think of this! A mail-clad Dwarf clanking at my back will be worse than a mail-clad Dwarf in a boat. Ai, too late now._ And despite Gimli's stone-hard toughness and determination, he lacked the necessary skills to handle one of these tall, strong warhorses by himself.

The Riders holding the remaining two spare horses exchanged glances, then looked doubtfully to Eomer. One horse was tall, white with age, battle-scarred and calm. Too calm, tired worn with battle. Legolas could feel it, and the big mare's back was long and sunken slightly, not strong enough for two riders, not on the long road ahead. The other was smaller, with a short back and lighter bone. But light like the talons of a falcon, like Legolas' own hands; slender and hard and strong, a fine gelding, and if the Rohirrim gelded such as this, then their stallions must be very great indeed. He was dappled like leaflight on forest floor; maybe four years old, maybe less. He danced at the end of the reins, the experienced Rider moving with him, but frowning, barely containing him. It was not, Legolas could see, a dance of joy.

Eomer considered the two horses for a moment, then glanced at Legolas, the look in his eyes was not the look of wonder he'd given Aragorn. Those eyes the color of open sky held dark doubt, still, about this stranger from a distant realm. One who had lately been as close as the twitch of a finger to releasing an arrow into his heart. One not of his race, one of the mysterious Elder Folk, who might, for all he knew, wield dangerous magic.

Legolas met his sky-eyes; _I forget how quickly the sons of Men change. Our folk knew each other once. It has been but a few ripples in the stream of time since then. Since your folk were the Eotheod, and lived between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains. But you remember it not._

Eomer reached for the reins of the smaller horse, and led him to Legolas, "I think this one may serve you better, Arod is his name, and the only Man he ever loved is fallen." he said. He did not long hold Legolas' sea-grey gaze but his slight bow, and his graceful gesture with the reins, had the courtesy of Kings.

Legolas nodded, and thanked him in the noble language that had been graven in his head since before Eomer's grandfather's grandfather had ridden his first hobby-horse. He took the reins.

The grey horse snorted and spun sideways in a circle around him. Behind him he heard Gimli grumble something about walking. Riders shifted in their saddles, some standing in their stirrups for a better look. Legolas could hear a few mutter softly in their own tongue. He did not know that tongue, but he could feel some of the intent behind the words; anticipation of something disastrous, or at least amusing. They knew nothing of his folk, Elves were barely more than a legend to them, but the Riders were sure of their own place as Horsemasters. They were sure things were going to get interesting.

To Legolas, the whole scene began to look somehow familiar...


	2. The Spotted Mare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if "the elvish way" is something a young elf must learn the hard way...

Every child in Mirkwood was perched on the fence, and in that small woodland kingdom of the Elves, that did not require much fence. That mostly empty fence wove through the tree-boles in graceful birdswoops, tall as the tallest Elf, woven of branch and twig and living vine, anchored every few strides by a deeply sunken post or a living tree. Outside the fence the great trees of Mirkwood sprawled into the green distance, ever darker and more tangled. Inside the fence, deep golden sand lay like winter snow, like a misplaced beach with the roar of the Forest River as its backdrop instead of the sighing breath of waves. At the far end, nearest the Elvenking's halls, tree and flet and woven vine formed shelters for horse and horseman, and small enclosures for a horse or three. Bright dark eyes and pointed ears peered over the closed gates, curious about what was going on in the center of the Great Corral, the Belegad on this bright spring day.

A spotted mare stood there, legs braced, head high, ears focused on the small girl in front of her. A white mare, with a splattering of chestnut spots the shape of bird eggs from her freckled nose to her wispy white tail. A red-spotted mare with wild white eyes. Eyes the pale blue color of high clouds, of the spray on the wild forest river.

The girl, long dark hair pulled back in a wild horse tail, might have been able to reach halfway to the mare's high withers with her hand. If she could have got close enough. She crouched now, small, a horse length away, singing soft words even her keen-eared friends on the fence could hardly make out. She had been doing this for three days, ever since the Men of the Eotheod had left their handful of half-wild horses in trade for Elvish weaving and swords and bows.

The spotted mare dropped her head, and snuffed a great whoosh of air at the girl. She laughed softly and kept on singing. The mare stepped forward, one cautious step.

Then another.

And another. She snoofed in the girl's face, blowing a tangle of long dark hair from the small girl's eyes. The girl giggled.

From the fence came a loud noise, like six squirrels being spider-strangled at once. The mare leapt straight up, spun in mid-air and retreated to the far side of the Belegad in a thunder of hooves and a spray of sand. The girl leapt up and stormed to the fence on silent feet that barely dented the sand, she reached like a striking cat for the nearest of the three boys perched there and yanked him off into the sand. Then she proceeded to try to bury him in it, shouting loud enough to be heard in the deepest depths of King Thranduil's halls that he was nastier than stinkbugs and slimier than spider-spit and she hoped he would get eaten by orcs and she didn't care if he was the bloody Prince of Mirkwood.

The bloody-nosed Prince of Mirkwood was trying, at the moment, to explain that it wasn't he who'd made the noise, but he was having some trouble with that...it was hard to talk with one's face squashed into the sand.

The two dark-haired boys didn't help much, they were doubled over with laughter and therefore incapable of coming to the rescue. Or defending themselves from being pulled into the sand as well. Soon their ears and noses were as full of it as the young Prince's.

At last a tall pale-haired girl leapt down from the fence and caught the smaller girl's arm, "Hold, Nariel, I think you've taught them enough manners for one day." Her face was as composed as a hawk on the hunt, but her eyes glinted with amusement. "Though they might need a repeat of the lesson one day, their heads are often thicker a Dwarf's helm."

"Stupid boys." Nariel snapped, still pulling at the older girl's grip.

"They only startled her."

"Sul, they ruined all my work!" she fumed.

"She'll be startled many times in her training. So will you. She'll come back. She's starting to like you."

Nariel's stormcloud face softened, her grey eyes widened, "Really? I can only tell what she's saying sometimes. And it seemed like all fear."

Sul smiled gently, "Keep working on it." she glared down at the three boys shaking sand out of their tunics and boots. "I suppose you three think you could do better?"

The two dark-haired brothers exchanged glances, "I..."

"...ah..."

"...er..."

"I thought so." Sul turned to the smallest boy, his sunlit hair still skewed and full of sand. She knelt and began to wipe his face.

He frowned and tried to push her away, to no avail. He cast a sidelong glance at the other two, slunk back to their places on the fence.

"Legolas, haven't you figured those two out by now?" Sul said.

"Well..."

Sul met the eyes of the young Prince, her own eyes had the look of the hawk who can see the smallest mouse-twitch half a league away, "Of course, you are not entirely without blame, it would seem."

"Ahm...um...er."

"Perhaps you would like to see how well you could do in Nariel's place?"

It was not exactly a polite request. Sul Vi'finnel had won her name because no-one could outride her. And she was close kin to the King himself. She was not someone to be ignored, even by a prince. Legolas sighed and shoved a scraggled braid back behind one leaf-shaped ear. It fell forward again, into his face. He straightened himself like a young tree, pulling together as much dignity as he could. The only horses he had ridden so far were ones who already knew the speech of leg and weight and gentle Sindarin tongue. He had played with young, curious foals, and watched the Horsemasters teaching the older ones. Sometimes he could understand their thought. But these half-wild horses of the Eotheod were something altogether new.

Still, a young prince of the Sindarin line should be able to do better than a wisp of an Avari girl. He stepped forward into the Belegad, speaking soft words of encouragement to the spotted mare. She stood at the far end of the arena, stiff and tall as a statue, ears following his every move. Legolas was keenly aware of Nariel on the fence behind him, twitchy as a cat wanting to pounce. Of Sul, hawk-eyed, beside her. Of Regorn and Ferion huddled like scolded pups as far from Sul as they could be and still be near the action. Of the eyes of the rest of the children; Avari and Silvan and Sindarin.

It felt like the air before a summer storm.

He shook it off. He was the son of Kings and had been taught by the finest Horsemasters, male and female, of the land. He drew himself up to his full height, not nearly as tall as the mare's high-held nose, and walked toward her.

She watched him, eagle-eyed, till he was ten strides away, then spun in a spray of sand and thundered to the other side of the Belegad.

A chorus of giggles, like the chatter of morning birds, broke out behind him. Legolas tightened his jaw and ignored it. Well, the same had happened to Nariel yesterday. He had seen it. For now, he would forget that he had been one of those giggling. Resolutely he walked toward the mare, soft boots making no sound, and barely an imprint in the deep sand. He sang one of the songs the Horsemasters had taught him, one that spoke of tall grass and gentle breezes. The mare's fine-tipped ears stayed focused on him, her head stayed well above the reach of the small prince. He got within ten strides of her, she turned lightly on her well-muscled haunches and trotted off along the fence in long floating strides, as if she scorned the ground.

He let out a huff of frustrated breath. He turned his head just enough to see Sul, wondering if she would offer any advice. Hoping she would. Hoping harder that she wouldn't.

The mare swung around in a swooping hawk circle and stopped, watching.

Legolas walked toward her, singing.

She watched till he was ten strides away, rolled back gracefully over her haunches and trotted away, tail flagged in a comment on the horsemanship skills of young Elves.

He walked and sang.

She spun and trotted off.

It became a dance. Walk, sing, spin, trot, walk, sing, spin, trot, walk, sing, spin, trot; punctuated with sprays of sand and snorts of derision from the mare, and low mutterings that weren't song from one very frustrated small princeling.

Stupid horse.

The sun wheeled across the sky, the grey-brown shadows of the trees shifted across the pale gold sand of the Belegad. Birds went on about their spring business in the wood, singing out their territories and carrying twigs and grass and bits of shedded horsehair for nests. A fox came out of the shadows, watched the Elf-children curiously for a moment, then continued on the rabbit trail she'd been following. Children on the fence wandered off and returned. Regorn and Ferion vanished, bored. Nariel stayed, as she had for the last three days. Sul was not visible, but Legolas knew she was there, somewhere, ready to swoop in like a mother hawk guarding her nest, whether he wanted her to or not. But she did not show herself, and offered no advice.

Good. He would do this himself. He plugged along after the mare, ignoring an offer of waybread and water from one of the children on the fence. He watched the mare, and saw now the pattern in her movements. A pattern he could use.

Walk, spin, trot, walk spin, trot. His own movements had become a pattern, one the mare expected.

So he changed it. A moment's hesitation, a quiet shift to the left at the right moment.

A leap.

The mare stood still.

Legolas smiled, then grinned from the mare's broad warm back. On the fence, looks of amazement broke out, then a soft chatter of approval, mostly from the youngest. On the older children, an expectant silence fell.

Legolas raised a hand to acknowledge the approval from the fence, and the world exploded beneath him.

The spotted mare's shock gave way to instinct, a predator had lodged on her back and needed to be removed.

It didn't take much to dislodge it. A few chaotic leaps and one twist and Legolas found himself with his face full of sand again.

He sat up and looked into the worried grey eyes of Sul Vi'finnel. She reached out a hand to brush the sandy hair from his eyes. He pushed it away and ran to the fence, he swung over it light as a deer, and vanished into the treeshadow.

***

The birdsong trailed off into the peeping chorus of little spring frogs in the dark. Through the airy branches Legolas could see the stars kindle in the deep sky. He huddled with his back against the mighty bole of Hirbrethil, the Lord of All Beeches, his tree, the one he went to when nothing in the wide world seemed right. Hirbrethil was older than he was, probably older than Adda even, with roots that reached deep into Amar the earth, and branches that nearly reached Elbereth's stars. But even Hirbrethil had no answers tonight.

There was a crashing of twig and leaf, as if a herd of elk had stampeded through Hirbrethil's canopy. A dark shadow whisked past on a branch, and Legolas almost smiled. One of the great black squirrels of Mirkwood, noisier than a whole army of Dwarves. He stirred, peered down from his branch, wondering what could have disturbed the squirrel. Here, so close to Adda's halls, there were no giant spiders, no orcs. The lights of tree-lamps and fires twinkled in the woods, and on the tree-flets. Singing and laughter came from no few of them on this fine spring night. But his tree was dark, and he was silent, and few knew that he came here.

It was probably Sul. If it was, he could climb silently around the other side of the tree, like a squirrel avoiding a hawk.

She would probably find him anyway.

He stood up, "Go away." he called down the tree-bole.

There was no answer, just the night-song of the spring peepers, the distant music of a Lay being sung, the crackle of campfires, the call of an owl.

He frowned, his hand went to his side, but he had left his knife in his room. Besides, the orcs were all to the south. Far to the south. "Go away!" he said, louder, much louder. Loud enough to be heard at the next campfire.

A huge shadow dropped from the branch above him, it landed silently as an owl, barely disturbing Legolas' branch.

"Go away? Well, I suppose someone else could eat your supper. Falas and Sirith followed me all through the halls with big sad puppy-eyes. You know how Gilion starves them."

"Adda!" Even in the near-dark Legolas could see the star-twinkle in his father's eyes, as he spoke of the two fat old greyhounds, and the devoted houndmaster.

"Well, fileg, I thought perhaps you might be as hungry as that spotted mare who was kept from her hay by a persistant and annoying two-legged colt." The King of All the Elves of Northern Mirkwood straddled the tree branch as if it were a quietly grazing horse. His golden hair was a loose, dark mane of treeshadow, and his simple hunting tunic blended with treebark and leaf till even the eyes of Legolas were challenged to see him clearly. It was however, easy enough to see the glint in his deep grey eyes, and the gentle smile on his face. He held out a flask and bundle to his small son. Legolas took the flask and drank deeply, then began to yank apart the waxed cloth wrappings of the bundle.

"Annoying?" he said through a mouthful of fresh bread and venison, "Sul is annoying. Nariel is annoying. I didn't do anything." He chewed for awhile longer, glad of the reassuring presence of his adda, and hoping Adda didn't ask any questions about what had happened at the Belegad. Especially about Nariel stomping him into the sand.

"Sul is young, and doesn't always know what to do, but she cares a great deal about you, and watches out for you."

"She told you I was here." the tone of his words was somewhat accusing.

"Many people know you are here, and they all watch out for you." Thranduil was silent for a long moment, then, "Nariel was worried too."

"Nariel?"

"Yes."

"But she...nevermind." Legolas watched his adda's face, wondering how much Nariel had told him. But Thranduil was silent, sharing some of the generous portion of excellent leftovers, leaning back on the branch to look up at the glittering stars, turning briefly toward the distant wavering call of a small owl.

Legolas took another long draught of the cool fruit concoction in the flask and stared up at the stars.

Thranduil's voice came soft from the dark, "Sul said you had a small discussion..."

"Nariel started it!"

"...with the horse." Thranduil continued as if he had not heard. "And the horse won the argument."

Legolas sat up straight and hard. The long day's frustration exploded in one great burst of sharp words, "What was wrong with that stupid horse anyway?"

"First," the Elvenking said gently, "she is far brighter than some who go on two legs. She is old and wise because she ran with the Eotheod's herds in the Wilderland for many years. She knows where to find sweet water and good grass, shade in the summer and shelter in the winter. She can avoid the wolves of the wild, and the wargs of the dark. And she can teach the young ones her wisdom. But she does not know the ways of Men very well, and of our folk even less. Nariel spent several days trying to understand her thought. And that has born fruit; the mare follows her like a lost puppy and not an hour ago, allowed Nariel upon her back. We will gift her with the horse."

"But Adda! She is only a little girl! And a dark elf!" _How could she accomplish that which a prince of the Sindar could not!_

"The horse cares not whether you are the son of kings, or Sindar or Avari or Edain. Nor how many summers you have seen. And this little girl seems to have shown more patience than one small impetuous princeling." He reached out with a strong, fine-chiseled hand, and wiggled the toe of Legolas' small boot. "The horse only cares what is in your heart." He laid his fingertips on the boy's chest. "And that they see truer than many who go on two legs."

"But...I wished her no harm. I only wanted to ride her."

"You wanted to feel the wind and the power and the thunder of hooves. To make that power your own. But that power belongs to the horse, and they will only gift you with it if they wish. Ai, there are those who claim that power with fear, who force the horse to their will. But one day it will lash back at them, like a strong bow with a string that suddenly breaks."

Legolas leaned back against the cool bark of the great tree, in deep frowning thought. It was too late to go back and try again with the spotted mare. And the wild ones who had come with her had been paired off with other riders. All that were left in the stables and the clearings and in the Belegad were the horses who knew the speech of leg and weight and gentle Sindarin tongue. And the heart of this one small boy desired something wild and dark and full of wind and night and thunder. Something he had seen a glimpse of in the spotted mare's pale eyes.

"Adda, could I not have my own horse now?"

Thranduil reached out and stroked a wild-colt lock of straggled hair back from his son's face. "You can ride any in the stables."

"It's not the same." _Not the same as Nariel and the Spotted Mare._

"Ah, I see, you want one that is all yours, like your own dragon hoard." Even in the deep treeshadow, Legolas could see the cocked eyebrow, the subtle expression that meant dragon hoards, and the wanting of them could be dangerous.

"Well, no. I mean." he scrunched up his face and tried to think what he did mean. He wanted to be like Nariel. No, he didn't want to be like that annoying girl. _Ai_...yes...he did. He wanted to sing to his horse and have it answer, and to be the First, the first to teach it the speech of leg and weight and elvish tongue.

"First," his father said softly, so softly he almost didn't hear it above the tree-whisper and frog-song, "you must listen."


	3. The Sun Stallion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if "the elvish way" is something a young elf must learn the hard way...

He sat on the little bay mare, Rossiel, standing still as a tree on the grassy rise. Behind him two other riders sat, talking quietly while their horses grazed, and beyond them, at the edge of a clump of ancient trees, smoke drifted from a campfire, and summer sunlight danced on bright tent cloth. But the eyes of the small Prince of Mirkwood were on a scattered group of riders two leagues away, and on the straggle of horses they surrounded in a large, loose circle. He leaned forward, body tense with desire to be out there, caught in the sunlit dust of the herd, hearing their voices, their thoughts, smelling the scent of hoof-crushed grass and horse-sweat, not just sitting on a hill watching tiny far-away figures, like the little carvings on his shelf at home. There rode Sul Vi'finnel, and other swift riders of the Woodelves, and a small group of the Men of the Eotheod who knew this land, and there too rode his adda, for it had been a long time since the King of All the Elves of Northern Mirkwood had had a chance to have such a holiday.

Home, Legolas had never been so far from it. It lay behind him now, miles of tangled tree and deep shadow. Of strange calls and shrieks in the night, a glimpse of giant spiderweb just off the Forest Road. The Misty Mountains lay ahead, a blue smear on the cloudy eastern horizon. And in between lay the wild. A wide rolling sea of grass, the north reaches of the Anduin snaking through the middle, and smaller creeks and streams trailing into it like the far-reaching branches of a mighty tree. Here Legolas could see farther than even on the western eaves of Mirkwood. Here he could see to the edge of forever. It took his breath!

And here the Eotheod roamed with their bands of horses, and on these wide plains a few bands had escaped long ago, forgotten by the Riders, to make their own lives despite the orcs and wargs that sometimes plagued them. It was one of those wild bands that the riders enclosed in their sun-circle now.

Legolas rose up on his knees to see better, pressing them into Rossiel's shoulders for grip. She twitched an ear and moved forward. He didn't stop her. She eased forward into a brisk trot in the direction of the herd.

A rider on a grey horse circled in front of the young prince, Sirrif, kin to the King himself. _"Daro, Fileg."_ he said; Halt, little bird. "You will find no higher lookout to watch from, and your mare is too slow for the chase." He did not say that the chase was too risky for the young prince, or that he would likely just get in the way.

Legolas sighed, sat back on his mare. He had heard that the children of the Men he watched now in the distance grew nearly as fast as the foals in the stables. Right now he wished that he could grow that fast, then he could be out there, with the others. Rossiel dropped her head and began to graze.

He studied the small figures across the leagues of grass. Grey horses, some dark as evening, some pale as morning light. Bays and chestnuts like earth, like copper, duns the color of fresh-baked bread with manes of night.

And one of them would be his.

Which one? A golden dun? A silver grey? Dark as night? Pale as morning? He had actually been listening when the Horsemasters explained what made a horse strong and swift; the cleanness of the leg, the shape of the haunch, the set of the shoulder, the slope of the pastern, the hardness of the hoof. But even his keen Elven eyes could make out none of those details from here. He fidgeted, how long would it take them? They had been following the herd for a week now. Gradually getting closer and closer. Gradually accustoming the horses to the presence of the riders. Driving off wargs and other predators. Slaying a small band of orcs that had wandered out of the tunnels of the Misty Mountains one night. Today they had begun to surround the herd, to try to move it in the direction of the camp, and the quickly woven fence, and then choose the horses that would journey with them back to Mirkwood.

A group of riders vanished into a low place between rolling rises. A cloud of birds flew out of the trees at the top of one of those humps of land. A circling hawk shifted its hunting pattern, drifting toward the riders and the rabbits they must have disturbed in their flight. Legolas stood on his mare's round rump, rising on his toes a little to see better. Rossiel grazed on.

A wild horse came out from behind the distant woods. And another. And another. Then a wavering line of them, following the low ground beside some unseen stream. Bays and red-gold chestnuts and half a handful of painted horses, white and color woven together like a huge map of the world. One black.

Five more horses. Six.

No, seven. Just before the last rider came a flash of flowing gold. A child's dream of a horse. A horse fit for a king.

Or at least, a very small Prince. _"Elo!"_ he breathed, awestruck. Sun glinted off the horse like firelight on one gold coin dropped on the earth. Its heavy mane and tail flew like silver, like river foam, like the high clouds called mare's tails. It ran just before the riders, just out of their reach, and it took Legolas many heartbeats to see what the golden horse was doing.

He was dancing before the riders, teasing them on, while his mares ran ahead, dodging to left and right, down hidden paths behind the wise old ones, and escaping. _Ai!_ It was brilliant! He must be the stallion, the guardian of the herd. Wise and wily and faster than any of the horses of Woodelf or Eothoed. Oh what a wonderful beast! Legolas bounced on his toes, and Rossiel snapped her ears back and hunched her back to let him know it annoyed her. _"Tiro, tiro!"_ Look, look! He shouted to his kin behind him.

The two Elves stood and gazed out over the leagues of grass. A slow smile came to Sirrif's face, "Now there is as fine a horse as I have ever seen."

That was enough for Legolas. Sirrif was old, even as the Woodelves counted age. And if he said it was a fine horse, than it was. Gleefully he somersaulted from his twitchy mare to the ground, and ran to Sirrif. Without being asked, the tall Elf lifted the boy onto his shoulders, where he perched like an egret in a tree. The far away mares had scattered down side paths, trailed by riders of his own folk, and a handful of the Eotheod.

One swift horse and rider still followed the glint of flowing sun that was the stallion. A blue-grey roan with a mane and tail like nightshadow, and a pale-haired girl slender and strong as a greyhound.

"Sul." Legolas breathed. Then he shouted as if she could hear him across the distance. _"Sul, Sul Vi'finnel! Noro lim, noro lim!"_ He bounced on Sirrif's shoulders feeling as if he would explode with waiting, with wanting. Ride hard, ride fast, he whispered to Sul. Catch the Sun. Then he shouted across the leagues to her again.

They vanished behind a rise and a thicket. Legolas wished his ears could see as far as his eyes, or that his eyes could see through brush and rock and hill. He heard only the crackle of the fire behind him, the soft tearing of grass from Rossiel, and his own excited breath.

The land before him was still. Silent. Off to the east, the dust rose around a quietly moving herd. To the west, a rider, then another emerged with a stray mare snubbed to a saddle pommel.

"What if something happened. What if her horse fell. What if..."

"I would know." Sirrif said quietly. Of course, he was her uncle. He would know. Legolas bit his lip anyway, and then his fingernail, then another.

"Patience." Sirrif said.

A bird flew up, and Sul Vi'finnel emerged. And at the end of the long rope lashed to her saddle pommel danced the Sun Stallion.

Legolas felt Sirrif let out a breath. "And how is it I know," the tall Elf said, "which one you will choose?"

***

"Patience." Legolas had heard that word a thousand thousand times now, it seemed. From Sirrith, from _Adda_ , from Sul. He sat on the fence of the _Rhawiath_ , the fence they had woven in the wild to hold the handful of horses they would take back to Mirkwood with the Prince's own. He had been there for three days, except for those moments when Adda dragged him away to eat or sleep (under great protest), watching the Sun Stallion dance his furious circles among the mares and yearlings and two foals. _Anor'rohanu_ Legolas named him, with all the enthusiasm of children for long, wild, poetic names. Names everyone would tire of tripping over in a week. Names that would be shortened to something pronounceable, like _Rhaw_ , Sul's name for him already.

_Rhaw_. Wild. "He is angry." was all she would say. "He does not want to be here in our little pen of sticks."

"I'll change his heart." Legolas asserted, "I'll show him who we are. How we can protect him from wargs and wolves and hunger in the winter and drought in the summer." _I will make him mine. My own._

Sul just shook her head and went to water her swift roan mare. Legolas stayed on the fence, watching, talking at, singing to the circling stallion.

Around him camp life went on. Other Mirkwood folk chose the horses they wished to keep from the herd. Some were riding them within an hour, or a day. The Men of the Eotheod (with a few women riders and a handful of children) had gathered two dozen others in a loose herd on the open grass beyond the little wooded camp. Other horses had been allowed to wander off; back into the small bands they had come from, or to form new bands under wise old mares, with younger stallions waiting for their chance to claim a place in a band. The warm summer evenings were full of cricket song and firecrackle, the smell of roasting rabbit and venison and steaming herbs, laughter and song in several tongues. Legolas was brought forth to the fire to do his diplomatic duty as the Son of the King of All the Elves of Northern Mirkwood; he yawned through endless introductions and half-listened to tales of doings beyond the Misty Mountains and as far as the _Ered Mithrim_. He wondered about these strange Men of the Wilderland, many of whom had faces nearly as hairy as Dwarves. He heard their deep, slow songs, in a tongue he didn't understand; but a tongue full of sadness and beauty and joy just the same. He watched the young boys and one girl racing their horses across the plain, or eyeing him uncertainly across the fire.

And when no one was looking, he slipped back to the Rhawiath.

Three days, and four, and the only horse left in the Rhawiath was Anor'rohanu. The mares and weanlings and foals were scattered about the camp with their new riders. Children played with the foals, teaching them to understand the Elvish tongue. Small children were lifted onto the backs of weanlings and yearlings for the first time. Riders went galloping over the grass in small groups with their new mares, and on the young stallions of two or three years. Legolas sat on the fence and watched Anor'rohanu trot in circles, tail flagged like a great war banner. Legolas sang, he told stories, he recited epic poetry, he talked, he nearly pleaded, _Listen to me!_ And sometimes the great horse would stop; stop circling, stop smashing the grass into dust, stop staring out over the fence to the plains beyond. He would turn and stare at the Elf-child on the fence, look straight into his eyes in a way not even the Men of the Eotheod would.

***

"That is a very great horse." the voice came in the Common tongue, colored with an accent in places rolling as the grasslands, in others hard as the distant mountains.

Legolas turned in surprise, song fading on his lips, to find a girl climbing the Rhawiath fence beside him. She was taller than he, and sturdier of build than Sul, or any Elf-child he knew, and fair enough, solid and strong, with a tangled mane, like the wild horses themselves. She was clad in the colors of earth, of grass and rock and soil; a short riding tunic and leggings and worn boots. A long knife hung at her side, and a coil of thin, but strong looking rope lay over her shoulders. He knew her then, the lone girl of the Eotheod who raced with the boys.

"See how straight his legs are, how his shoulder slopes like a gentle hill, the angles of his haunch. He floats across the grass like a bird! We've seen him from afar often," she said, "but none could get close to him, or trick him into a hidden corral. That Elf-girl who caught him must be a very great rider indeed! And her horse must have invisible wings!"

"She is Sul Vi'finnel, which in the Common tongue is Wind in the Hair, because no-one can outride her, and her blue roan mare, Luiniel is the fastest in all of Mirkwood."

"I don't see her trying to tame this horse, even though she caught him."

"She caught him for me."

"That is a great gift!" The girl's brown eyes widened. "A wonderful gift!"

An embarrassed smile crossed his face. He had not thought much about why she had tried so hard to catch Anor. Maybe because Adda had asked her.

"Well, she must care for you a great deal."

"She is my kin." he explained. And thought about all the times she had come swooping in to rescue him, even when he wished she would just go jump in the Forest River. He wriggled on the fence, frowning.

"Who will tame him?"

"I will."

"You? You are only small. A little boy. He would throw you to the moon, then grind you into the dust!"

She obviously had no idea who she was talking to. He sat up as tall and straight as a stallion on a hill, "I have been talking to him since he came here. He is beginning to listen to me. See how he stands?"

Indeed, Anor'rohanu was standing five strides away, low morning sun turning his coat to molten red-gold, ears following their quiet voices, honey-colored eyes following every move.

The girl leaned forward studying the golden horse. Her eyebrows folded like birdwings, "My brother told me Elves can talk to animals. Hear what they are saying. Is that true? Can you hear what he is saying?"

_Ah!_ Legolas blinked, caught off-guard, "Of course." Of course he might know what the horse was saying...if he had spent less time talking and more time listening.

"So, what is he saying?" the girl insisted.

He fixed his eyes on the horse, a huge golden silence in the Rhawiath. He could feel the earth-brown eyes of the girl of the Edain looking straight through him to the part that felt very small and stupid. He met the great golden-brown eyes of the horse; Anor's head raised a notch, the ears twitched sideways, then forward, watching. He stood very still.

Legolas leaned on the fence, trying to understand Anor's thought. The horse stayed rooted in his place, an empty silence. "I think he is no longer afraid." Legolas said at last. _Now. Yes, now was the time. Enough of this sitting on the fence and singing and watching and waiting._ He dropped lightly into the corral, and walked toward the stallion, speaking soft words of encouragement.

The Sun Stallion stood like a statue, silver mane as still as snowbound fir tree, tail a frozen waterfall.

Legolas slowed, three strides away.

The stallion struck. A golden bolt of lightning and a thunder of hooves.

A thin rope sang out and snapped him on the end of his velvet nose. His jaws closed on empty air. Air that had just contained the Prince's head.

Legolas clung, panting, to the other side of the Rhawiath fence.

The girl of the Eotheod coiled her rope, and swept her eyes over him. "He did not touch you...?"

Legolas nodded, unable to make any words come out of his mouth.

"He probably wouldn't have. That was a warning. A warning such as he would give to an upstart colt he wished to drive from the herd. But I took no chance. He might strike a colt with hoof or teeth, and it would be no more than a scratch, but you are much smaller."

Legolas nodded, fighting back tears, and coming very close to losing, _"Hannon le."_ he whispered. He saw her nod in acknowledgement, even though she certainly didn't know what it meant. _Thank you_.

"Well, you were right. He certainly is not afraid." She leaned on the fence, studying the horse.

Legolas found his voice, though it was still very small, and half-choked, "How do you know that? About the warning, and the colts? I did not know the Edain could hear the thoughts of horses."

"I have followed the herds since I was smaller than you. I watch. I listen. I see how they talk to each other with twitch of ear and shift of body." She shrugged as if it were no big thing.

"Our horses do not run in herds like these."

She nodded in understanding. "But you can still hear what they say?"

Legolas looked again at the Sun Stallion, standing a few strides from the fence, watching them both with high held head. Hear what they say. And what was it Adda had said?

_First you must listen._

Legolas straightened on the fence, fixing his gaze on Anor's eyes. _I have sung to you for days, but I have not heard what you have to say._

The stallion made a soft rasberry through his wide nostrils, an ear twitched in astonishment.

Legolas continued, _Speak then, if you will._ It was half Royal Command...half desperate plea.

_Foolish colt._ It was as clear as if the stallion had shouted it.

_I am no colt, I am one of the Firstborn._ Legolas hesitated, _A child, yes, but a child of the Firstborn!_

_Firstborn, Secondborn, I care not. You are a colt, two-legged one. Young, small, weak. And not at all wise. And you have tried to command me!_

_I am the son of the King of all the Elves of Northern Mirkwood!_

The stallion snorted, raised his head far beyond what the small Prince of Mirkwood could reach, even on the fence of the Rhawiath. _Perhaps one day you may be a king. But I am one now._ He arched his hard neck, and flung his silver tail like a war banner, he struck a hoof on the hard dusty ground, a hoof chipped by leagues of travel to pure water and fair pastures. He turned a great muscled haunch, scarred by hooves of lesser stallions, and teeth of predators he had kept from his mares. _When you have such scars, you can bid me as you will._

The Sun Stallion blurred, like a fading dream, through small-boy tears. He dropped to the grass on the outside of the fence, vaguely aware of the girl turning and saying something to him. He wanted to run far away, he wanted to strike out at something. He wanted to call Adda to make it all better, for perhaps a king would only listen to a king.

He went to the gate and unlatched it. "Go." he said softly, and flung it wide.

The golden stallion thundered by, giving a great twisting leap of joy. He spun about, two strides from the Elf-child, and stood for a heartbeat, great golden-brown eyes meeting tear-filled grey ones. He stood, like a treasure from a dragon's hoard, a child's dream of a horse. He dipped his great head briefly, mane breaking over his ears like a wave on the Forest River. Then he wheeled and was gone.


	4. Lord of the Wild Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if "the elvish way" is something a young elf must learn the hard way...

"Come. I have something to show you."

Only a few disturbed birds wheeling in the distance remanined to mark the passage of the Sun Stallion. Legolas felt a light touch on his shoulder, then heard a clear whistle behind him.

A small mare as red as new copper trotted to the Rhawiath gate, she wore one of the sturdy saddles of the Eotheod, and a bridle of braided leather and horsehair. She was short enough for Legolas to easily reach her withers, but light and long of leg. Swift looking, like Gilion's greyhounds.

The girl moved past him, swung up on the mare and held a hand down to him. "Come."

He did not need her hand to swing up behind her, but he took it anyway; for the look on her face was not one of pity for a small boy, but one of understanding. From one horseman to another.

In silence they rode out from the Elf-camp, toward the open plain. Quiet voices and firecrackle came from the camp behind them, Legolas could see eyes turned in his direction, but none of his folk called out. He knew a few would still be watching him when he was a league away, or five. And Sul would probably follow, though he would never see her. Before him, the herd of the Eotheod moved slowly toward a tree-shaded creek, a scattering of Riders circling it, reins loose on their horses necks, turned in the saddles calling to each other in cheerful voices, or nibbling on cheese and dried fruit. One sang a loud song, in a voice only a little more pleasant than a raven's.

Legolas almost smiled.

"I have not told you my name." the girl said.

She did not say that he had heard it around the fire, several times, when his mind had been running with a golden stallion. He strained his memory for the strange-sounding name and could not find it.

"I guess I haven't told you mine either." he said.

"I am Elfhild, this fine chestnut mare is Lihtfota."

"Elfhild? That's a good name. But what does Ligghht...Litt..."

"Lihtfota." she said gently. "Lightfoot in the Common tongue, for she is swift and light."

"She is beautiful."

"What does Legolas mean?"

_Ai_ , she had remembered the introductions better than one trained to pay attention to such things. He was glad she couldn't see his face right now. "Greenleaf." he said, wondering if it would sound silly to a girl of the Eotheod.

"A good name for one who lives in the woods."

He felt the little copper mare's haunches shift under him, her step change as they eased into a light floating canter. The herd in its cloud of golden morning dust flowed by to the east. Legolas swept his eyes over them, silver grey and golden dun, red chestnut and earth brown, bays like rich polished wood with manes of night. He scanned the herd again. Something tickled at his memory, blurred for days by polished gold.

_Ahhhh_ , the painted horses were gone. Nowhere to be seen, and he thought he remembered a black as well.

Lihtfota swept by the herd on its slow journey to morning water. Up one rolling rise and down another. Legolas turned on Lihtfota's rump and the bright tents of the camp were gone, he could only see the tops of the trees.

"Where are we going?" his voice edged with growing excitement, and uncertainty.

"You'll see." was all Elfhild would say.

Through a thin line of trees, and along a meandering stream, twisitng back on itself till its loops nearly touched. A light floating leap across, past a hill with a ring of rocks, up a rise, then;

_"Elo!"_ Legolas breathed. Below them in a sheltered hollow grazed a band of two dozen horses, foals and yearlings; polished bays and red-gold chestnuts and the painted mares and one black.

"I've watched them for days." Elfhild said, "The ones that no rider could catch, not the swift riders of Mirkwood, or my own folk. Their leader was too wily."

The memory returned, as if it were happening before his eyes; a golden horse dancing before the riders, teasing them on, while his mares ran ahead, dodging to left and right, down hidden paths behind the wise old ones, and escaping. "These are the mares of the Sun Stallion." he whispered.

"Yes. He helped them escape, he drives off other stallions and wolves and wargs, he sires their foals, but he is not the wise leader I speak of. That is the red and white mare at the front of the herd. See how she watches us?"

"Yes."

"She's old, old and wise. And she's taught her offspring well."

"Fine horses."

"Finer than any we have caught." Elfhild agreed. "See that tall bay? My sister would like her. And the red-gold one, with the silver mane, my brother lost his best mare in an orc-raid last winter, and ohhhhh...the tall painted mare like a gold and silver map of the world!"

"You have a fast horse."

"My cousin has need of a good horse, and Lihtfota will go to her when I find a new one. She is small still, but my legs are already too long on Lihtfota."

It was true then, these children of the Edain did grow as fast as foals.

They sat in silence, soaking in the wonder of it. The red and white mare dropped her head and began to graze, but another lifted hers, and continued watching.

"They are not really afraid of me anymore. But they will not let me get any closer." Elfhild said. "I wish I could talk to them."

Legolas shifted uneasily on Lihtfota's rump. He had not had much luck talking to horses lately. Especially wild ones. He focused on the mare watching him; the one black he had seen before, broad-chested, well-muscled and straight of leg, with a keen knowing eye and one white star, like Earendil's, in the middle of her forehead.

_Listen_. He heard Adda say.

Lihtfota dropped her head and grazed, the rythm of her munching matching the rhythm of the horses but a few galloping strides away. Elfhild sat easily, turned slightly in the saddle, a leg across her horse's neck. Legolas turned sideways, as if on a soft couch back home.

Watching the black mare, listening.

_Who are you, Little One?_

_No one important._

_You smell like the one who chased us days ago. The One who took the Sun Stallion. You smell like the Sun Stallion too. What have you done with him?_

_I thought I could ride him, but I am only a silly colt. I opened the gate. I guess he will return to you._

The black mare shifted her stance, cocked her head. It seemed like she was laughing. It seemed like she could see far more than Legolas opening the gate.

_Come here, Little One. You do not look dangerous._

Legolas slid off Lihtfota's red rump and landed in the deep grass with no sound. He walked toward the herd. Behind him Lihtfota lifted her head for a moment, then grazed on. He heard Elfhild breath in in surprise. Several other mares in the herd lifted their heads, watching in silence.

He came and stood before the Black Mare. She lowered her head and snuffled at his hair, his tunic, unchanged for days, full of the scent of carried hay and corral dust and moved manure.

_Why did you want to ride the Sun Stallion?_

_To feel the wind and the power and the thunder of hooves. To make that power my own._ Legolas looked into deep wise eyes, eyes with fewer years than Elfhild, but eyes which had seen much. Suddenly all that about wind and power and thundering hooves seemed a terribly foolish thing to say.

_I'm small, he's large and strong and fast. And beautiful._ He felt the tears sting at the back of his eyes again.

The Black Mare felt it too, he knew. She nuzzled his hair and wrapped him in the warm embrace of her neck. _You are wiser than some colts. Wiser than many._

He leaned against the warm silky shoulder, face pressed into her neck, feeling her gentle wisdom, and her strength, like mountains, like the broad wings of an eagle.

From the edge of the herd came a snort, like a great horn blown. Legolas felt the mares shift around him, heard the muted thud of hooves on the grass. He lifted his head. There was a sound of faint thunder, far off in the direction he had come. He followed the gaze of the mares, and saw the golden flash of Sun.

Elfhild stood on her mare's saddle, "What is it?" she called to the boy.

"The Stallion's returning." his heart was in his throat, he knew not whether to flee, or stay. To catch another glimpse of the Stallion, or to leave it as it was, an untoucheable dream. The Black Mare stood, blocking him, shielding him, like a colt of her own.

The flash of gold grew, the Sun Stallion thundered up, tossing his head, snaking it low with flattened ears as he circled his herd, making sure none were missing. He ignored the girl on the red mare, still as stone. He did not see the rope in her hand, hidden along the side of her mare.

He did see the Elf-child at the shoulder of the black Mare. He snorted, snaked his head, half-reared in front of the Black. She flattened her ears, and struck at him. _Keep your place! She snapped._

He backed up, stood still, staring at Legolas. _Why are you here?_

_I came to look on the beauty of the herd._

_You came to steal my mares, colt?_

_No. I am no Lord of Wild Horses, as you are._

The Stallion regarded him with honey colored eyes, glowing almost like fire in the hot sun. Behind him, Lihtfota moved forward.

Legolas saw it. _"Daro!"_ he shouted. Then "No! Stop!"

Elfhild pulled up, lowered her rope. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." he stayed at the Black Mare's shoulder, and she stood yet between him and the Stallion.

The Sun Stallion flicked an ear toward Elfhild, but did not deign to look at her. He kept his gaze on Legolas. A long, hard gaze, like an eagle's. It struck straight through to the place where Legola felt very small and stupid. Then he heard the stallion's thought; _No, I think you did not come to steal my mares. You could have kept me in your little pen of sticks, but you did not. And maybe your friend could have roped some of my colts, but she did not. You have the honor of a Lord, even though you are only a colt._ He dropped his head, looking the Elf-child straight in the eye.

Legolas heard it as clear as if he had shouted it; _If any will follow you, they may._

The great golden horse turned and circled his herd once, whickering to them, then he trotted up a low rise, where he could watch out over the land, and dropped his head to graze.

Legolas stood, eyes wide, breathing as if he had just run for forty leagues and five. He looked up at Elfhild sitting on the red mare, ten strides away. "What was that all about?" she said, eyes wider than his own.

"We should go now." he said softly. He wrapped his arms around the Black Mare's neck, then trotted to Lihtfota, and swung up on her rump. He cast a last long look at the golden horse grazing on the hill, then at the beautiful mares in the hollow. They all watched him with deep, wise eyes.

Lihtfota turned and swung into a long reaching walk, back toward the camp. Elfhild turned for one last look. Legolas saw the longing look on her face change to puzzlement. "Four there are who follow us." she said.

He nodded, he knew without looking; a tall bay, a red-gold mare with silver mane, and Elfhild's painted mare of gold and silver, like a map of the world.

And the Black Mare with the single star, like Earendil's.


	5. My Friend Arod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if "the elvish way" is something a young elf must learn the hard way...

"Sedho, sedho, nuitho i 'ruith." came the soft words, sung more than said. _Be still, be still, hold your wrath._ The grey horse of Rohan scuttled sideways, head high, ears turned back. Legolas held the reins loosely, moving gently with the horse. Mirroring every move, quietly, like a shadow. And listening.

Listening.

_Away! You are not my Rider! Away, away! You are tall, and pale maned, but you smell strange. Not like my Rider. Not like any of the Riders._

_I know. I know._ Legolas shadowed another spin sideways. _I'm not like the one who was there when you were foaled. Who brought you your first grain. The one who placed the first saddle on your strong back. Who guided you safely through dangerous paths. But I mean you no harm._

Arod stopped, ears twitching in surprise.

Legolas stepped to his shoulder. _You have never met my kind before, are you surprised that I know your heart?_

Arod lowered his head a notch, turned and stared at this strange Rider with one great brown eye. _Who are you?_

_I knew many of your kin, long ago, on the other side of the great Greenwood._ Legolas reached out and touched Arod's shoulder. Not gold, not dark night. Etched mithril and steel. And kin to those horses a small boy had loved a moment ago on the stream of time.

The small boy was tall now, taller than the fence of the Rhawiath, a colt no more. He had journeyed in the dark under the Misty Mountains, faced the terror of Durin's Bane, spoken with the Lady of the Wood and recieved her gifts, shot a Nazgul out of the sky. His eyes had seen more now than those of the wise black mare with Earendil's star.

Arod's brown eyes studied the Elf. _Who are you, that you wish to command me? Are you a great Lord of your people?_

_No one important._ Legolas answered.

Arod snorted.

_Listen._ Adda had said.

Legolas listened. And heard.

_Fire and fear and fierce beasts howling, spears like an unyielding dark forest and the hard hurtful ring of swords. The thunder of the herd, and screams of the dying. The sudden shift of weight in the saddle, then nothing. Emptiness._

Legolas' hand slid around the young warhorse's neck. _I hear you. It is over. Those fell beasts, the orcs, are destroyed. Your Rider is gone, but I have need of you. Of your speed, your strength, your courage. Not for me, for all of the land, for the black horses taken by the Dark, for the Future King who even now rides your friend, Hasufel, for the Little Folk in their far fields, for my friend Gimli's folk in their mountain halls. It may be a hard road, but it will be a harder world if we do not ride this road. And I will protect you on it, as I may. Will you bear me, and my friend?_

One silver ear, tipped in black, flicked forward. Then the other. Arod lowered his head. He turned then and shoved his nose square into the Elf's chest. Legolas smiled, embraced the fine-chiseled head with his arms, and slid the bridle off. The grey horse nuzzled the Elf's hair, pale as the Riders' own, but with a strange scent, like the wind from the faraway forests. He took a slender braid in his teeth and pulled gently. Legolas laughed. He reached under the saddle skirts and undid the girth. Arod snuffled along the lines of the grey cloak, carrying the scents of a strange forest, of wood smoke, of the sweat of a long chase. He gave Legolas another nose-shove. Why was this strange Rider taking off his gear when there there was no stable near, and the other Riders and horses waited impatiently to move on?

_We will not need them, mellon nin. You are free to come with me, or not, as you will._

I will.

Legolas slid the saddle off, looped the girth and breastplate and bridle over the pommel and handed them to a Rider who stood near. "I need them not." he said quietly.

The Rider stared at him, disbelieving. And watched as the Elf swung up on the grey horse like a cat leaping lightly onto a wall. Murmurs of wonder grew around the circle of Riders, as the fiery little horse that had tossed no few of them turned this way and that, pirouetting like a dancer under the stranger from Mirkwood. Legolas looked up at the nearest Riders and caught their eyes, the wonder in their faces gave way to a few broad, approving grins. He and Arod came and stood beside Gimli, Legolas reached a hand down to him.

The sturdy Dwarf's eyebrows hung over his eyes like dark clouds. "Perhaps I should ride with Aragorn...after all, he has seen fit to keep his saddle."

"With that axe, his horse would surely set you on the ground. I have made an agreement with my friend Arod, that if he suffers your presence, you will give him a thorough rubdown at our next stop."

"And I suppose you will build a ladder so I can reach his back?"

"If necessary, he will sit so you may attend to his needs."

"That I would pay gold to see, a great beast like that sitting like a hunting hound begging at the table.

"Begging is something you are not likely to see him doing."

Two Riders came forward and helped heave the stout, mail-clad Dwarf onto Arod's round rump. He clung to Legolas like one drowning to the side of a boat.

"He will not let you fall, unless you foolishly leap into midair." came the Elf's reassuring voice, tinged with amusement.

"And how would you know? I suppose you've asked him?"

"I have."

The Dwarf shook his head and did not lighten his grip.

"He says you have all the grace of a large sack of flour, but he can probably manage to keep one of your legs on each side of him."

"Elves." Gimli muttered, and felt his friend's silent laughter. "Still, it is better than trudging after a light-footed Elf and a long-legged Ranger on foot."

"We will make a rider of you yet!"

Beneath them, Arod gave a great snort of disbelief, gathered himself and cantered lightly after Hasufel.


	6. Appendix & Author's Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if "the elvish way" is something a young elf must learn the hard way...

APPENDIX

(hippocampus, cerebellum, whatever)

Wild Horses:

_Hannon le_ and a tip of the hard hat to Teddy the Pony, my patient bay Anglo-Arab Saraf (who taught me to work without saddle or rein), Bazraf the grey Elf horse (a Welsh/Arab pony with one blue eye) who made the SCAdians believe in unicorns and understood _"noro lim!"_ , Olori Cuthalion (mustang), Hambone (properly Hamdan, Arab), Sahabi (Arab), Yatalii (mustang), Svaha Daughter of Olori (mustang/Arab)...

And especially the real Black Mare: my mustang, Olori Eldalie, who spent the first 8 years of her life running wild on the high desert of south-eastern Oregon, and taught me about wild horses.

..and all the others who have tried to teach me _the elvish way with all good beasts._

(More at http://www.geocities.com/makenuk)

***

Horse whispering, Edain style: At the local distribution center for the Bureau of Land Management's Adopt-a-Horse program (which takes "excess" mustangs from western states and brings them east) I have seen a good trainer take a wild horse from the pens and have a small child on him within hours.

"I need them not": There is, in this tale, one small departure from the Letter of the Book, (in which Legolas asked the Riders to take off saddle and rein), it seemed to work better here if Legolas did it himself.

And yes, the Elven roundup riders are using saddles, as Glorfindel did (complete with stirrups, which proved useful for Frodo) in LOTR. While their ability to communicate with their horses means Elves likely don't need bridles, a saddle is a very good thing to have when you are trying to lead a reluctant wild horse. It's also a useful place to hang extra gear, like waterskins, food pouches, and that rope. As Samwise once said, _never know when you might need a bit of rope._

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SCA, the Society for Creative Anachronisms, is a serious historical recreation/education group found worldwide promoting an understanding of the arts and history of the Middle Ages...

...aw heck, we all know they're just a bunch of fans who couldn't book a flight to Middle-earth.

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Sindarin 101:

(unless otherwise specified, from Ryszard Derdzinski's Sindarin Dictionary, www.elvish.org/gwaith-i-phethdain)

Nariel= firemaiden, nar=fire, iel=maiden, a typical girl name ending.

Sul Vi'finnel; sul=wind, finnel=braided hair, vi=in...a nod to Rodney Grant's character in Dances With Wolves; _Wind in His Hair_...the concept of a girl who has that kind of wild power, but also one who has the controlled complexity of a braid.

Cail=palisade (fence of sharp stakes) ephel=outer fence, gad=fence, catch...iath=fence

Belegad=really big fence

Thon=pine tree...brethil, fer=beech tree...galadh, gald=tree...lalm=elm...orn=tree,

regorn=holly...toss=bush-tree(low-growing tree)

Elbereth=the Starkindler, Varda, Vala of the Stars

Amar, ambar=Earth...cae, or cef is soil...Ennor is Middle-earth

Hannon le=thank you, from the Two Towers film.

ross=copper, iel=girl name ending, rossiel

rif=border, margins...sir=river, _sirrif_

fileg=small bird

rhaw=wild

anu=male, roh=horse, anor=sun _anor'rohanu_

the Eotheod and Eorlingas:

Lihtfota=lightfoot which is Rohirric or Anglo-Saxon (from a translation of "Snowmane's Epitaph" into Rohirric @ http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/turbeth.htm Lightfoot is also the name of the mother of Snowmane, King Theoden's horse)

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Elfhild= from the Rohirric name of Theodred's mother (the Peoples of Middle-earth)

On horse names: Hamdan, Saraf, Sahabi, Bazraf are all typical of the (somewhat mangled) Arabic names given to horses with Arabian blood. Yatalii is Navajo (the name of the highest type of medicine person; the Singer), Svaha is the title of an excellent fantasy novel by Charles DeLint; supposedly an American Indian word for the space between thunder and lightning. Cuthalion is Sindarin, "Strongbow" the name of my favorite character from the Silmarillion.

Ol = dream, (plural=elei, or ely in FotR soundtrack). Olori was pulled by me from Unfinished Tales in 1985 as the name of my mustang mare, and I think it is Quenya. Eldalie is "Elvish" or "of the Elves". Edhel (plural=edhil) is Sindarin for elf.

Ol'edhel would be Olori Eldalie's name in Sindarin.

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The Color of Horses:

Arod's color is not mentioned, only that he was smaller, lighter; possibly in _build_ , or _color_ , if color, he would be a grey, lighter than Hasufel's dark grey. (Not that darn chestnut stand-in in the film!) I thought it more interesting if he was young and inexperienced. Therefore he is a darkish dapple...greys (and 99.99 percent of "white" horses) start out some normal horse color and get more white hairs with age till they are white or nearly so, somewhere between the ages of five and ten. Some, like the aforementioned Bazraf, get a marvelous chocolate chip ice cream pattern called "flea-bitten". Both Arods ( the white-maned one and the dark-maned one) in the film are older greys, as is Shadowfax.

The Spotted Mare: Appaloosas are a breed in America (originating with the Nez Perce Indians of the northwest), but the color (varying from dark with snow or marble patterns to solid with a spotted blanket to white with "leopard" spots...more like cheetah, really...) is found in other breeds like the Knapstrupper, the Pony of Americas, and others. Spotted horses of this type have been found in art millenia old, and art on the walls of ancient caves. Most Appaloosas have dark eyes, but rimmed in white like a Two-legged's eye.

Some horses have pale blue eyes, the color of a Siberian Husky's, nearly white. Usually blue eyes exist because of a nearby white face marking. One exception I saw, was on the Island of Chincoteague Virginia, at the wild pony auction one summer; a solid bay filly with no white markings at all had two beautiful pale blue eyes.

Chestnut is any brown color from near-black to near-palomino (gold), the mane and tail are always the same or lighter color than the body (black points makes a "brown" horse a bay), often chestnuts are reddish. Brown horses look black, but have a few lighter hairs around muzzle and flank, or are the shade of dark chocolate. Black horses are _black_ , except for my mustang mare, who is black twice a year when she sheds, then sunbleaches to the color of nuclear-burnt toast.

The Sun Stallion is of course, the archetypal palomino, which decorated endless westerns (think Roy Rogers) and calendars of the fifties and sixties.

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A Really Short History of Middle-earth:

(or; whattheheck was going on around Mirkwood when Legolas was a kid, when was he a kid, and where would you find wild horses?)

From "The New Tolkien Companion", JEA Tyler, 1980:

Wilderland is Rhovanion which stretched from the Misty Mountains in the east to the River Celduin-Carnen in the west to the Grey Mountains (Ered Mithrin) in the north. Beorn's house sat between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood, on the north reaches of the Anduin. He was not yet born at the time of this tale, though his ancestors might have been in that region. They were akin to the Eotheod and to the Men of the vales of Anduin, their language a northern dialect related to the language of Dale.

The Eotheod lived between the Misty Mountains, the Ered Mithrin, and northwestern Mirkwood (1977-2510 third age). In 2510 a group of Easterlings, the Balchoth, assaulted Gondor.

The Eotheod, the host of Eorl, arrived in the nick of time and turned the tide of battle. Gondor rewarded them with the depopulated land of Calenardhon between the Isen and the Anduin. Whence they became the Rohirrim, the Horse-lords. (The Atlas of Middle-earth, Karen Wyn Fonstad, 1991)

Despite Peter Jackson's inventive numbers (2000 + years old), Tolkien never tells us **exactly how old Legolas is** , but there are some clues. In his article "speaking of Legolas" Michael Martinez makes the most of these clues and suggests: "Legolas may have been born after his father left the Emyn Duir (Mountains of Mirkwood) and led his people north to settle along the Forest River. That would have been shortly after Sauron rose again and established himself on the hill of Amon Lanc, building the fortress of Dol Guldur (1050) _...it may be...that Legolas was born sometime in The Watchful Peace, and perhaps towards the end of it."_

The Watchful Peace; 2063-2460 Third Age; when Dol Guldur was temporarily abandoned by Sauron because of a desire to preserve his true identity from an increasingly inquisitive White Council. (New Tolkien Companion).

He was likely born a century or two before the Eotheod became the Rohirrim, the premise I used in this tale.

I always saw him as quite young, for an Elf, and agree with Mr. Martinez. I like the fact we don't have a specific age for him: he's a wonderful conundrum of young and old, naive and wise, skilled and inexperienced, all at once. For that reason I didn't give him a specific age in this story either; an Elf child who appeared to be eight or ten would have far more experience and knowledge and skill in some areas than a ten year old human child, yet be more childish and younger in other ways.

The Hobbit begins in the year 2941 Third Age.

LOTR in 3001 with Bilbo's farewell feast, 3018 Gandalf arrives back in Hobbiton to send Frodo on his Quest.

LOTR Lines: _"How did you escape our sight? Are You Elvish folk?" "...who has heard of a horse of the Mark being given to a Dwarf?" "...you shall sit behind me..." "I need them not."_ LOTR readers will recognize these lines as lifted straight from the book, I used them because that's what the characters actually said. _in places rolling as the grasslands, in others hard as the distant mountains_ is a nod to Legolas' description of Aragorn's song in the language of Rohan (Two Towers). "My Friend Arod" is how Legolas refers to Arod when the horses return with Gandalf and Shadowfax. It occured to me later that, as a chapter title, it is an obscure nod to that classic of horsey children's literature (and a successful 60's tv show) "My Friend Flicka".


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